


A World Lit Only By Fire

by JonsaInTheNorth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 02:45:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8353864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JonsaInTheNorth/pseuds/JonsaInTheNorth
Summary: They talk for hours into the night, waking a closeness that was never there before. After she falls asleep, Jon ponders on this newfound fondness and what it means for the both of them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the book of the same title.

 

He settles his cloak across her body, contorted as it is in the wooden chair. Jon wonders whether he ought to move Sansa, but she looks peaceful for the first time since he saw her standing in the Castle Black courtyard. There was a desperation he would not have expected in Sansa’s eyes when theirs met across yards of falling snow and cold air.

Jon almost didn’t recognize her- she was so much taller than when they left Winterfell, her clothes were plain and worn from travel, and there was a fear to her, drummed into her by so much change across so many years. This was not the Sansa he once knew.

The details came out, though he was sure she did not share them all. Tormented and beaten in the court of Joffrey Baratheon, given to Tyrion Lannister in a quest to take the North, abandoned by the few friends she had at court, forced to play the bastard daughter of Littlefinger, all this before her consummated marriage to the Bastard of Bolton.

Healing bruises still peeked out from the hemline at her neck, a yellow stained testament to the abuses Sansa suffered. Even after it, her will was strong as steel.

After their argument, they returned to stilted recollections of fond memories, tales of the easier years of their youth. Lasting well into the night, their conversation never seemed to drain Sansa. Yet after a short lull, she fell asleep in the chair she sat in.

Jon pushes a coil of her back behind her ear and tucked his cloak higher on her body. Death took him, darkness and an end he didn’t expect. Melisandre claimed him for this world again with her magic and her fires. But there seemed no purpose to the madness, no reason to tell her why.

Then Sansa came.

A brush of red against a world of darkened black and grey. 

The light he needed.

Her vision is a folly, surely, something impossible. Better would it be for them to steal south. The sands of Dorne, or even the Summer Islands, both better destinations than the walls of Winterfell. Yet her determination would see them through.

Sansa’s breathing fills his chamber, wall to wall. The only noises are her and the crackle of the hearth fire. It is warm here, though not as warm as the chambers of Winterfell once were. Likely as they still are. Those walls once flew with the banners of Stark, before Theon Greyjoy burned them all to ash.

Before Jon met this closeness he never had with his eldest sister. A tie binds them that no one else can ever feel, a thread unseen to any but their own blood, a tie that bares words that rule his veins, even if they aren’t is own.

 _Winter is coming_.

The words of his father, Sansa’s words, the words Jon himself longed to claim for all his youthful days.

Winter was coming for the Boltons, in her icy glare and the ring of his steel. 

Jon found a light again in a world filled only by darkness. Sansa is that spark, that eternal flame he needs and he will die before he sees that light snuff out again.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!
> 
> You can also find me on [tumblr](http://jonsa-in-the-north.tumblr.com).


End file.
